Nightmares Can Be Murder (A Dream Club Mystery) (15 page)

I felt a warm curl of desire in the pit of my stomach, and I decided to rein in the conversation and bring it back to neutral topics. I was curious about what Noah could do to help Ali; he’d seemed so optimistic on the phone.

“Well, officially, I won’t be involved in the case,” he said slowly. “But there’s a lot that can be done behind the scenes, and I have a few connections that will work in our favor. I found out from Aunt Ellie that her son, my cousin Chris, is a detective with the Savannah-Chatham Metro PD.

“That’s a good start,” I said, relieved. “We can use a contact with the local police.” I was pretty sure Sam Stiles wouldn’t share any information now that Ali had been interrogated, and I needed an inside source to track the case.

“And there’s more. Did you know that Sara Rutledge is working at the local paper?”

I blinked in surprise. “Sara’s here in Savannah? I had no idea. What’s she covering?” Sara had just graduated from J school at Emory when I knew her in Atlanta, and she was covering strictly rookie reporter stories: the police desk, high school basketball games, and occasionally even writing obits. We’d met at the local dog park one summer evening; she was walking her dog, Remy, and I was walking a neighbor’s pooch. We’re both big-time animal lovers and immediately hit it off. I knew she had wanted to move up in her career, but I had no idea she had set her sights on Savannah.

“I saw her byline on some society pieces. I think she’s freelancing, probably taking any assignments she can get. Times are hard in the newspaper business.”

Back in Atlanta, I knew that Sara wanted to be an investigative reporter. I wondered if she’d like to do a little sleuthing for me. Reporters have an uncanny way of ferreting out facts and getting reluctant witnesses to talk. I decided to have a chat with Sara later in the day and rekindle our friendship. But right now, I had a more pressing issue. I needed to talk to Ali and see what had gone down at the station house.

18

“It was awful,” Ali said piteously. It was a little after three in the afternoon and she was curled up on the sofa, hugging a handmade pale blue afghan to her chest. Barney and Scout had snuggled up next to her, offering her their unique brand of feline comfort.

“Have you been like this since”—I hesitated—“since you got home?” I saw she’d made a pot of tea earlier, and the sweet smell of jasmine permeated the tiny apartment. Her face was pale, and her eyes were red-rimmed as if she’d done some serious crying.

She nodded. “I just came in and collapsed. Dana’s handling things downstairs.”

I nodded. “She was waiting on a couple of people when I came in. You don’t have to worry about the shop; it looks like she has everything under control.” I sat down beside her. “How did it go? Are you ready to talk about it?” I was determined not to make my usual mistake and grill Ali for details. In the past, she’s accused me of going after information like a pit bull. “If you just want to sit quietly, we can do that. Or I can make you a fresh pot of tea, or fix you something to eat. Whatever you want.” I reached out and touched her shoulder awkwardly.

“I think I’m ready to talk,” she said softly. “And if you could grab the teapot off the counter, it would be great. It’s still hot—I made it a few minutes ago. I just haven’t had the energy to drag myself off the sofa to get it.” She looked up at me. “Pretty pathetic, isn’t it?”

“Not at all,” I said, jumping up to get the tea. I grabbed two mugs and a plate of shortbread cookies. “You’ve had an incredibly rough morning, I can see that.” I poured her a steaming cup of tea and she nodded gratefully. “Would you like a sandwich?”

“Thanks, but I couldn’t face it.” She nibbled at the edge of a tea biscuit. “Well,” she said slowly, “you asked me how things went at the police station. On a scale of one to ten, it was a two.” She tried to smile but I could see it was an effort.

“That bad?” When we were growing up, Ali and I used to rate everything on a scale from one to ten, whether it was boys or math teachers or prom dresses. Ten was the best, and one was the absolute worst. Rating it a two meant it was a near total disaster.

“What happened? Was Sam there?” I sat beside her, already regretting that I hadn’t insisted on going with her. What if she said or did something that made her look like a viable suspect? I might have made a tactical error by insisting she call Sam Stiles. Maybe it would have been more prudent to meet with Noah ahead of time since he was a private investigator and see what he suggested? Or perhaps call a lawyer? I felt a little stab of guilt, thinking that I might have unwittingly made Ali’s situation worse.

“I saw her just for a second when I came in. She was heading out to another investigation and walked by me without a word. I felt like I was a criminal. She barely made eye contact with me, and I’m sure the other detectives picked up on that.”

“I wouldn’t read too much into her keeping her distance, Ali.” I moved the cookies away from Barney, who had decided to sniff them with his wet nose. “I’m sure it seemed awkward to you, but don’t forget, she was on duty and you were there on police business. It wasn’t the time or place to socialize, and she has to play by the rules. If she’d been overly friendly to you, it might have been misinterpreted. I think she was trying to be protective of you. Did you ever think of it that way?”

“You’re probably right,” Ali admitted. “Still, it was a nerve-wracking experience. They kept me waiting for twenty minutes, and then I was interviewed by a Detective Scott Sanderson. The guy had a face like Mount Rushmore, absolutely no expression.” I made a mental note to quiz Sam Stiles about her colleague.

“Was he confrontational? Or just cool and businesslike?”

“He was cold, almost like a robot. He asked me to tell him everything I remembered about seeing Chico that night. What I said to Chico, what Chico said to me.” She reached down and pulled Barney into her lap. “He asked me if Chico seemed nervous or on edge, and then he wanted to know if I thought Chico was expecting any guests that night.”

“What did you say?”

“I told him Chico wasn’t too pleased to see me.” Her mouth twisted in a smile. “I told him I was only going to stay a minute, and he didn’t even ask me to sit down.” She looked at me searchingly. “That’s how eager he was to get rid of me!”

I thought for a moment. “Did the detective ask anything else?”

Ali frowned. “He asked if I’d be willing to take a lie detector test.” She gave a little shudder. “I don’t know if he was saying that to intimidate me or if the police are really planning on giving me one.”

A lie detector test?
Now I really regretted my decision not to involve a lawyer. Things were moving way too fast, and I felt a stabbing pain in the pit of my stomach. Was Sanderson just trying to muscle her, or did he really think they had enough evidence to charge her with Chico’s murder? “Anything else?”

“He asked me if I was involved with Chico.” She flushed. “You know, romantically involved. I told him no,” she said firmly. “I said we were friends and neighbors and that’s all.”

“And that’s the truth, right?”

“It’s true,” she said, her eyes flashing a little. “When I first moved here, I guess I was sort of lonely and Chico was available. We had a few dinners together, and then I realized he was ‘available’ to everyone, and I broke it off with him. I think I wised up just in time.”

“Anything else?”

“Isn’t that enough?” She gave a wry smile. “He asked if I was planning on leaving town anytime soon and said it wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“Because?” I prompted.

“Because he wants to talk to me again.” I didn’t like the sound of that, but decided to keep my misgivings to myself.

When Ali decided to take a long nap before dinner, I made a quick call to Sara Rutledge. She lived just a few blocks east of the shop, and we agreed to meet at a wine bar on Bay Street for a quick drink.

“You look amazing,” I told her as I slipped into a booth at Chablis half an hour later. Sara is a blond beauty with green eyes and finely chiseled features. She was wearing a sleeveless black-and-white Michael Kors top over a pair of skinny jeans and could have passed for a model. “I can’t believe you’re in Savannah. I was so happy when Noah told me you’d moved here.”

“And we’re practically neighbors,” she said, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. “What could be better?” She’d already ordered two Pinot Grigios and pushed one toward me.

Sara and I quickly caught up on the past two years, and then I told her about Chico and Ali. I tried not to let on how worried I felt and just stuck to the facts in the case.

“Did the detective say she was a suspect?” she asked, all business, reaching in her oversized tote for a pad and pen.

“No, not at all. Well, at least not yet. I don’t know what their theory of the case is, and I can’t imagine what they think her motive would be. She should have come clean about seeing Chico that night. I guess she was too nervous and upset to think straight.”

“Hindsight is always twenty-twenty, Taylor,” Sara said firmly. “That’s rule number one. She’s probably just a person of interest to the cops. But I hope they’re turning their attention elsewhere. Who looks good for the murder?”

I quickly ran down the list of suspects. No one person stood out from the pack. I thought Jennifer Walton might have something to do with Chico’s death, but I didn’t have any concrete evidence. Just a gut instinct. A woman at the Walton’s dinner party had hinted that both the Waltons were having affairs.
What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander
, she’d said. Could Jennifer really have been romantically involved with Chico and then killed him in a jealous rage? Surely anyone who dated Chico would know that he wasn’t “exclusive” and liked to play the field. It hardly seemed a motive for murder. Plus from the way she was hanging over Noah at the party, it looked like she had set her sights elsewhere. But I still had the nagging feeling that she might be involved in his murder.

Of course, if Jennifer really had been seeing Chico, it’s possible her husband, Thomas, found out and decided to seek revenge. But it was hard to imagine the portly politician turning to murder. Unless he hired someone to do the deed? I was guessing that poison was the most likely cause of death, based on Persia’s dream account of the man suddenly keeling over. And if the police did suspect poison, wouldn’t it be more likely that the killer was a woman?

I wondered if Gina could have given Chico some slow-acting poison and then left the studio and returned later that evening. Maybe just in time to discover the body and come screaming across the street to Ali’s shop? She had certainly seemed stunned and upset, but maybe she was a good actress. Hadn’t Ali told me that she once performed in dinner theaters in Charleston?

I saw Sara stop writing, with her pen poised over the paper. She had put a question mark next to all three possible suspects. “These are pretty weak,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “We’re going to have to dig deeper if we want to clear Ali’s name.”

I glanced at my watch. It was nearly six and I didn’t want Ali to wake up and find me gone. “Can we work on this tomorrow?” I asked apologetically. “I need to get home to Ali; she’s had a rough day.”

“And that’s where you should be right now,” Sara said, standing up to give me a hug. “I’m going to get cracking on this right away. I’ll look into Chico’s financials. If he really was going to buy up those buildings, that might open the door to other suspects. And I think I should check out this Gina Santiago a little more. Something smells fishy here. She just happens to forget her key and then discovers the body?” She wrinkled her nose. “It doesn’t pass the smell test.”

“You’ll let me know what you find?” I asked, slinging my messenger bag over my shoulder.

“Of course. And I’ll call Noah, too. The three of us should get together in the next day or so. We might as well share whatever we’ve got and plan a strategy.”

“What should I do in the meantime?” I felt skittish and uneasy, off my game. I like being in control, and I had the unhappy sensation of being mired in quicksand. Everything was slipping away from me, and I knew I had to act fast to recover my sense of balance.

“Don’t worry. And please, do your best to reassure Ali, if you can. That should be your focus right now.” She paused. “You’ve got to trust me, okay? I’m on it and Noah’s on it. We’ve got your back.” She gave me a warm smile. “Got it?”

“Got it.” I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath and blew out a little puff of air.

I headed back home, trying to stay positive, but a famous quote from Gilda Radner flitted across my mind. “Things tend to get worse, before they get worse
.
” That saying used to bring a smile to my face, but this time it didn’t.